Camels and Cloves
by Chicklette
Summary: It's not what they say, it's what they whisper: New girl Isabella Swan has heard nothing good about Jasper Whitlock. So why can't she stay away from him? Are the rumors true? AH/OOC M- drink/drugs/sex. "For the Love of Jasper" Contest.


"**For the Love of Jasper" One-Shot Contest **

**Title: **Camels and Cloves

**Pen name: **Chicklette

**Existing work: **N/A

**Primary Players: **Jasper/Bella

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer retails all rights over her characters and identifiable plot points. But, since this is a work of fan fiction, posted on a fan fiction site, I'm guessing you already knew that.

**To see other entries in the "For the Love of Jasper" contest, please visit the C2:  
www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/For_the_Love_of_Jasper_Contest/72564/**

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**Camels and Cloves**

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_March_

I'm hiding out on the back porch at another one of Jessica Stanley's parties. I don't know why I fucking bother anymore, but Emmett showed up at my house, sans Rosalie for a change, and insisted that I air myself out. We walked in, everyone gawking, and E immediately headed for the keg in the kitchen. I stood around for a minute, eyeing my classmates as they eyed me. It never fucking changes, you know? I got the fuck out of there.

Thirty minutes later I'm standing on the back porch when I hear the sliding glass door open.

"I don't know how you fucking stand it," she says, jerking her head toward the house before lighting up a clove cigarette. The back patio is small and wooden, with steps that lead to a much larger, lush green yard. Despite the party raging inside, I'm the only person outside, braving the fine mist of another Forks spring night.

I lean against the railing and she joins me, uninvited.

I look her over, this intrusive stranger. She's short and curvy, with long brown hair and big dark eyes. Little pink mouth wrapped around her smoke as she sucks down the candy-flavored fire. I don't respond. What the fuck am I supposed to say?

Stanley's shitty sound system bleeds Blink 182 out into the night. The song ends and in the silence I hear her drawing in the smoke, the soft pop of her lips as she pulls the cigarette away from her mouth. Keeping with the 'songs of masturbation theme,' strains of _Turning Japanese _filter through the air.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She inhales a couple of times. No, wait. She doesn't inhale. She just…sucks, then blows out the smoke after holding it for a second in her mouth. After every puff she sucks on her bottom lip, like she's enjoying the taste. She flicks the filter tip with her thumb, and ash rains down onto the grass below. I chuckle a little, shake my head.

She turns and stares me down, then quirks and eyebrow at me. "Don't judge me. These things will make your fucking lungs bleed."

"I didn't say a word," I answer. She's wearing a little denim skirt and showing off quite a bit of leg. She's got to be fucking freezing; it's only March. She takes a sip of whatever's in the red plastic cup, which I'm guessing is cheap, too foamy beer, then goes back to puffing on her cigarette.

"You're Jasper Whitlock," she says. I nod, but don't say anything else. If she knows my name, then she's heard the stories. Not much of a conversation can be had at this point, is my guess.

I pop the cherry from my smoke and watch as it falls into a puddle. I lean down on the ground and make sure that there's no more fire on the butt, then stuff the spent thing into my pocket. She watches me, her mouth open.

"It's fucking rude to litter," I say.

"Why don't you quit?" she asks.

"Why don't you start?"

"Because I have no interest in becoming addicted like some kind of fucking junkie."

The words hang like a gunshot in the stillness and she turns twenty shades of red, her mouth popping open to a perfect little "O."

"Shit," she says. "I'm…so fucking sorry. Jesus, Swan." She looks down at her feet, muttering to herself. She drops the cigarette, toes it out on the ground and walks away. Ten seconds later she comes back, picks up the butt from the ground and stuffs it into the pocket of her hoodie. Then she's gone again.

The night air is damp, like everything else in Forks. The stereo is set to some emo pop shit and I'm still kind of gaping after the girl.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask myself in the dark.

Emmett laughs from the shadows. Fuck. I didn't even realize he was out here.

"That," he says, walking toward me, his big frame blocking out the porch light, "was Miss Isabella Swan."

I close my eyes and sag against the railing.

Fuck my life.

* * *

I get to school early on Monday. I don't know why, it just means I'm going to end up sitting in my truck, iPod cranked up while I wait for the bell to ring. I'm leaning back in my seat, eyes closed, drumming on the steering wheel when McCarty shows up, pounding on my window.

Emmett's probably big enough to be a lineman but plays quarterback, and he brought home the all-state championship two years running. He also happens to be the only individual in all of Forks High School who can pass for a decent human being.

I roll down my window and hit pause on the music. "S'up, E?"

He cracks a grin. "Gotta go to Port Angeles on Friday, get a new suit for Sadie Hawkins. You down?"

Sadie fucking Hawkins. The only dance of the year that I fear because it's girl ask boy and I never know when one of these Forks bitches is going to try to play rebel without a clue and ask me.

"Fuck no. You know I don't go in for that shit. Besides, thankfully, no one's asked me."

Emmett raises his eyebrows at me. "I don't know, I think you made an impression on that Swan chick."

I roll my eyes. In town for less than a week and Bella Swan has probably heard every sordid fucking story there is about me. Whatever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I fucking hate doing this shit alone. We can hit up the club after. I hear they've got some decent bands playing this week."

I sigh. Might as fucking well. He'll bitch all day until I say yes. "Pick me up at my house at four. And bring me some food."

Emmett laughs, drums his hands on the roof of my truck and walks away.

I look at the clock and see I've still got ten minutes before my first class. I head out to the handball court and rest against the back stop. I have time for one last smoke before I head into the various of levels of hell that are high school.

The morning is quiet out here, the cumulative noise of students talking, car doors slamming and lockers jostling open has dimmed to a faint buzz in the background. I hear footsteps approaching and I stub out my Camel. It's unlikely to be a teacher, but the last thing I need is a lecture on smoking, so out it goes.

"So, uh, what class do you have now?" The scratchy voice of Mike Newton interrupts the snap and hiss of a match being lit on the other side of the backstop. There's a smooth drag and a long exhale. When the hell did Newton start smoking? He's the fucking poster boy for goody-good.

"Fuck if I know," comes the voice that could only belong to the Swan girl. I freeze. It seems like even breathing would make too much noise in the quiet out here.

"Let me see you schedule," Newton says. I hear fumbling, a zipper, and Newton's nervous laugh. Why he doesn't just piss on her leg already is beyond me.

The two start talking about schedules and teachers and Newton about comes in his pants when he realizes he has not one but two classes with the girl. I start to tune them out. The banality of high school is going to be the death of me.

"So, uh, you were talking to Jasper Whitlock the other night?" Mike's statement comes out as a question and I'm suddenly eager to hear what he has to say.

The Swan girl coughs a little and mumbles something too low for me to hear.

"Yeah, well, just, uh…you don't want to make friends with him, okay?"

There you go Mike. Tell her all about it.

"I don't?" she asks. "He seems like an okay guy." I tilt my head to hear better. Her voice is soft, the fierce girl from Saturday gone, which makes me curious. I know she's already heard some of the stories. Why the fuck is she pumping Newton for more gossip?

"Just, uh…he's not, Bella." I hear feet shuffling and can picture Mike, trying to be a hero when he's still just a little boy. "He's kind of, well, I mean…uh…he's kind of got a drug problem. Like, with needles and stuff. You don't…want to be around that."

"He shoots up?" she asks. "That's a little hard to believe. I mean, if it was that bad, wouldn't he have OD'd or something by now?"

The half grin that spreads over my face is as unstoppable as it is unwelcome. I close my eyes and wait for the next, the best part.

"He did," Newton says. "He like, OD'd one day in class, after lunch. It was right after he moved here. We were all sitting there, in a movie in science class and he just started flopping around, like he was having a seizure or something. They hauled him into the nurse's office and an ambulance came and everything. Lauren Mallory said she saw some needles and other stuff in his backpack when she took it to the office for him. He went to rehab for, like, three months after that. He just came back to school this year."

Bella takes another puff from her clove. I can smell it, sweet and spicy, and it makes my mouth water. There's silence as she evaluates the information.

"Does he still do it?" she asks.

I can practically see Newton shrugging in my head. "Dunno," he says. "He pretty much keeps to himself now. He never had a lot of friends to begin with."

I hear a shuffle and slide and realize that someone, probably Bella, is sitting down on the other side of the backstop. I'm trying to picture her in our school uniform, wondering if she chose the pants or the skirt, when Newton interrupts again.

"Well, uh, we should go. Bell's going to ring in a minute."

Bella sighs. "Go on without me." There's silence for a moment and she breaks it by saying "I'll see you at lunch, yeah?"

"Sure Bella. I'll see you." I hear his steps crunch on the blacktop, quick as he heads to class.

The quiet of the morning settles around us again. The bell rings and she doesn't move. I consider leaving, heading for class, but I don't want to reveal myself and embarrass us both. No, that's not true. I really kind of want to embarrass the Swan girl.

Instead, I sit and wait. After a few minutes I hear a soft humming and then Bella Swan starts singing, _"well it's in the way he walks, it's in the way he talks, his smile, his anger and his kisses."_ Her voice is soft and sweet and way too high for that song, which, I'm surprised she knows.

I stand up and come around to her side of the backstop. She's got _Lolita_, that elegant smut, half-open and resting against her thigh. She looks up at me and turns all kinds of shades of red. I'm wondering if she shouldn't have chosen a school with different colors. The blue and green plaid kind of clashes with her flush, which has spread all the way down her neck and into the collar of her white shirt before it gives way to creamy white skin.

"Misguided Angel," I say. "You're going to be late."

I walk away before she can comment, but I hear her scrambling behind me. Her footsteps slow as she comes near but then speed up as she runs toward the buildings. Her skirt flips up around her thighs and I'm enjoying the view but it's cut short as she trips and goes flying across the blacktop.

Ouch. That's gotta hurt like a motherbitch.

She lays there for a moment but before I can really start to worry she picks herself up and sits on her butt, her knees folded against her chest. She looks around herself and I'm reminded of a toddler after a fall, trying to decide whether or not to cry.

I reach her and squat down to look at her knees. They're both scraped pretty bad, the blood beading up on the surface of her skin, with dark brown and black smudges all around. I pick up her palms and they're bleeding too, though not as bad as her knees. From our positions, I can see that she's wearing blue cotton panties. Very nice.

"Come on, Swan girl. Let's get you to the nurse's office." I rise and hoist her up under her arms until she's standing. I pull her back pack off her shoulder and sling it over mine, tucking my notebook under my arm.

"You okay to walk?" I ask. She nods, her face still flushed with blood. She takes a hesitant first step and I put my hand at the small of her back, guiding her, ready to catch her if she falls. I swallow down the urge to laugh, because I mean, come on, it's pretty fucking funny. The one person she's trying to run away from ends up being the one person she's trapped with. Plus, I'm really liking the way the small of her back fits against my palm. I'm wondering if her ass will feel just as good. I glance down. Probably better.

We get to the office and Ms. Cope waves me in. "I've got a live one for Mrs. Henley," I say, pushing Bella through the low wooden doors that separate the waiting area from the office. I lead her through the open space until we come to a small room. Nurse Henley looks up from her paperback, surprised to have a patient so early in the day.

"Hello, Jasper. Are you-"

"I've brought you a patient," I say, before she can go any further. "Took a header on the blacktop," I explain. "She's, uh, Chief Swan's daughter."

"Oh, my. Hello, Isabella dear." Nurse Henley turns her attention to the girl and I ease out of the office, waving to Ms. Cope as I go. I know she'll have no problem giving me a hall pass if my first period teacher asks for one, but I doubt I'll need it. Mostly my teachers let me come and go as I please, and I ever have to do is offer an embarrassed smile as an excuse. As long as I maintain my four-point-oh, no one gives me any hassles.

The next time I see the Swan girl is at lunch. She's got thick white bandages over both knees and an ACE bandage around one wrist. A couple of band aids on the heels of her palms perfect her look. She sees me from across the quad and offers me a small smile, apologetic and grateful.

I pretend not to see her and skip out for the rest of the day. I don't like pretty girls who think I'm a junkie smiling at me. It's just wrong.

* * *

Friday afternoon it takes Emmett all of an hour to find a new suit. We head to this Italian restaurant that's a favorite of his, then over to Port Angeles's only all-ages club.

The place is packed, the air steamy with bodies pressed against each other; the smell of fried food and spilled drinks is almost overwhelming. The lights are dim and the band on the stage sounds like yet another Death Cab for Cutie imitation. There is officially nothing new under the sun.

I nod to Emmett and tip my head toward the back of the club. I probably won't find an open table, but it's worth looking. If this is the kind of music they'll play all night, well, I probably won't be dancing much.

I order a diet coke during the set change. Emmett's girlfriend, Rosalie, is at the bar, and he alternates between making puppy eyes at her and glowering at all the guys checking out her ass. She does the same with the opposite sex. Together since the eighth grade, Emmett and Rosalie are like a fucking hallmark card for happiness. The quarterback and the prom queen.

Whatever. I'm just jealous.

The new band comes on and they're actually pretty good. I abandon my table and diet coke and head out to the center of the floor. The beat is hard and pounding and I close my eyes and sink down into it, my body moving, shaking off the stress of the week. Three songs in and I'm starting to feel better when some douche stumbles into me and knocks me on my ass. I jump up, ready to punch someone, only to come face to face with Isabella Swan. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" she yells over the banging beat of the drums.

"You ever notice you say that a lot?" I ask. "Maybe you should do something about it." I turn and walk away, my stress release becoming a thing of the past. I should have stayed home and whacked off.

I catch Emmett at the bar and ask for his keys. Rosalie will drive him home; it's what would have happened anyway.

Emmett gives me a concerned look, glances over my shoulder, then smiles, dropping the keys into my hand. "Dude," he says. "Have a good night." He raises his eyebrows at me like he knows some secret. I just grab the keys and head for the exit, suddenly craving all things mellow.

I'm smoking a cigarette under the orange tint of the sodium lights in the parking lot. I close my eyes and slide down against a light pole, knees to my chest, wondering why I was such a dick to the Swan girl when I smell the spicy sweet scent of her cloves.

"You really should give that shit up," I say, not opening my eyes.

"I like the taste," she answers. "Besides, so should you."

"Eh, a man's gotta have some vices, don't you think?"

"Is that what you call it?" she asks.

I sigh. I'm really not interested in getting into this shit now. "Go home, cop's kid. You'll get caught out after curfew. What will daddy say?"

"I don't give a fuck," she says, her little girl's voice making a mockery of her words.

I finally open my eyes and she's crouched between my legs. She's wearing her school skirt and a navy blue hoodie, white ankle socks and white lace-up vans. I can see small scabs on her knees.

"Can I have some?" she asks, pointing at my smoke. I stare at her as she places her palms on my knees and leans in to me. I'm caught in a scent storm of cloves and smoke and something sweet like candy or fruit coming off of her skin, mixed with the sweat I can see at the top of her brow. Her pink mouth comes at me and I'm holding my breath, the cigarette in my hand burning idly and then my bottom lip is in her mouth and she's…sucking on it. I pull away to exhale and she's got her tongue in my mouth, stroking it against my tongue and I'm not stupid so I start stroking back, my hands at my sides, my cock suddenly at full fucking mast and my eyes wide open on this girl who's kissing me.

She breaks the kiss and pulls back, sucking her lower lip. "Mmm," she moans, her voice all throaty. Her eyes are hooded and her lips pooch out. "Thanks," she says. "That tasted good."

I stare at her, tasting the sweetness of her clove in my mouth, then I stand up and she falls back, looking up at me, all big eyes and blushing cheeks. I can see what looks like lacy pink underwear under her skirt. God, she flashes that shit a lot.

"Fuck off, Swan," I say. "I'm not playing this game."

"What game?" she asks, moving to cross her legs, her skirt making a little hammock between her thighs.

"I'm not going to be your revenge, your big fuck you to mommy and daddy for moving you to BFE more than half way through your junior year. This isn't _The Breakfast Club,_ sunshine. Find someone else to use."

I turn and walk away, willing the vision of her pink-panty clad crotch out of my mind.

* * *

A week later I'm minding my own business at the library. I'm in the far stacks, in the animal husbandry section. No one should notice me and my stack of books on the history of war in the United States. Which, of course, is why the Swan girl is there, dropping to her knees in front of me. She folds her legs under herself, and this time I catch a flash of yellow. Didn't anyone ever teach her how to sit in a skirt? Jesus.

"It's not revenge," she says. "I don't know why you think that."

I raise my eyebrow at her. "You always kiss strange men in parking lots?" I ask.

"You're not so strange," she answers. Her eyes are big and brown and her mouth is…pink. Like panties. Shit.

"Listen cop's kid-"

"Shut it," she answers. "If I'm a fuck for writing you off as a junkie, then aren't you one too, for writing me off as a cop's kid?"

Well motherfuck me. She has a point.

We stare at each other for a minute. She's all furious and indignant, her eyes blazing on mine, and I realize that I need to have a conversation with her somewhere other than this library.

"Let's get out of here," I say, and rise. I grab her hand and help her up, and she holds onto it as we head out the door. She laces her fingers through mine, like she's fucking not ashamed of being out with me. Like she's afraid I'll let her go.

I take her back to my house, take her into my room and close and lock the door behind us. I push her over to the bed and she sits, then looks up at me. All of her fake courage is gone. She's become a fragile little thing again, with scraped knees and elbows and she's scared but she's still here, and what I really want in this moment is to kiss her and tell her that everything is going to be okay.

Instead, we stare at each other until she finally holds her hand up to me and pushes up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. There's a set of long pink scars across her wrist.

When she speaks, her voice is low. "Two days ago in the locker room I heard Jessica Stanley tell Angela Weber that I tried to kill myself when I was in Phoenix. The next day in the bathroom I heard that I'd given my mother a breakdown over it, and that's why my dad had to take me."

Her eyes water and I fall to my knees, taking her hand in mine. I'd do anything to keep her from crying, this small girl on my bed.

I bring her wrist to my mouth and kiss the scar, brushing my mouth over it, feeling the warmth along the raised pink welts. My lips burn.

I look up and her eyes are closed. She exhales and when she opens her eyes, her lashes are wet but she's not going to cry.

"Do you…shoot up?" she asks.

My mouth quirks up and I nod and her eyes widen. She's fucking adorable in her honesty, and I'm wondering when the fuck I started using words like adorable. I also feel like a dick, but I'm not quite ready to be more than honest with her. I'm selfish and I need more from her first.

She swallows, then eases back from me a little, further on to the bed and looks around. There are model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a teetering stack of CDs piled next to the stereo and a mess of clothes, well, everywhere. My computer is on the desk, and the screen saver is pushing Kush prints across the screen. She leaves the bed and sits in my desk chair to watch them.

"These are beautiful," she says, looking over at me. I can see her trying to work it out: History books and model planes, beautiful, surreal art and a junkie.

I smile and stand behind her. I know that I'm drawing this out, but…after everything else, I need to know what this is about for her before I can tell her what it's about for me.

She watches the images as they float across the screen and I watch her face reacting to the art. Pure innocence, fascination. Like a kid in Disneyland for the first time.

"Did you try to kill yourself?" I ask. I want to know her truths, and I want her to know mine, but she has to keep talking in order for us to get there.

She shakes her head, her back to me, still watching the prints. "I got caught on a chain link fence one night when I was out with my friends. We were breaking into the elementary school so we could use the swings." She shrugs. "It got infected and now there's a scar."

She doesn't look at me so I swing her around to face me. I put my hands on the arms of the chair and lean in to her. Spicy and sweet. Sugar and spice, and everything nice. I really want to touch her. I want to taste her mouth again.

Her eyes flutter closed as she waits for my kiss. I rub my nose against hers, breathing her in. She arches forward a little in the chair and I know it's going to be really hard not to find out what color her panties are today, if only because she'll make it so easy.

I stroke my finger along her jaw, then up the curve of her ear. I nose along her cheekbone and press a soft kiss into the corner of her mouth before I rest my forehead against hers and say "Isabella Swan." More than anything I want to pull her on top of me, onto the bed and kiss that pink mouth until it's red, tasting the sugar, tasting the spice. How long has it been since I've let myself want anything, let alone anyone?

"Bella," she says, pulling me out of my fantasy. "It's just Bella." I shake my head. I have no business with this girl.

I sit back on the bed, across from her. "Why are you here?" I ask.

"I…You seem like a fucking decent guy," she says. "Not like the rest of them." The fake courage is back. Brave little girl.

I cock my head at her. "A decent guy who shoots up?"

She shakes her head. "I don't fucking know. When I got here, everyone was telling me to stay away from you, telling me all these fucked up stories about you. But then I saw you in the library, not today, before, and you were just…engrossed in this book, and earlier when you first came in, you fucking helped this little girl reach a book on high shelf and…. It was incongruous."

Incongruous.

"You swear a lot," I say. "How come?"

"I get nervous," she answers. "So I swear."

"Why so nervous, Bella? Scared of the big bad junkie?"

"No! I just-" She cut herself off and huffed out a sigh. "I just wanted to know who you really are. Even if that's some fucking addict."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not a fucking junkie, Bella."

She watches me, waits for me to say something else. I walk over to my backpack and pull out a small black case, dumping the contents on the bed. I hold up a gray device that fits in the palm of my hand. "Glucose meter." I raise a syringe, showing her the clear liquid, like water, inside. "Insulin. I'm diabetic." I laugh. It's amazing how good it feels to tell her this, to tell someone the truth, finally.

"I don't do drugs, Bella. I don't even smoke pot."

She takes it all in, tilts her head. "Then why…?"

I sigh. Same thing Emmett asks me every time the rumor mill winds up again. I give the best answer I have. "I moved here from Texas in tenth grade when my parents were getting divorced. Things with my mom were…fucked up, and I went into insulin shock one day in class. Lauren Mallory must have seen the syringes because she started the rumors about me being a junkie." I close my eyes, remembering that first week back, hearing all the rumors about who I was. Like none of these people ever knew me – like we were never friends.

I guess we weren't.

"You're friends with Emmett though, right? Why doesn't he tell people?" she asks.

"Because I asked him not to. Emmett McCarty was the only person who even tried to get in touch with me when I left school. And he's the only one who doesn't try to make some kind of statement by being my friend. He's just…cool."

I open my eyes to look at Bella, and she's calm, quiet across from me, so I keep talking.

"My mom sent me to live with my brother, Peter, and his wife, until she got her shit straight. I came back at the beginning of this year, but by then, the rumors were…. It seemed kind of pointless to try to fight it. People believe what they want. They look at me, long hair, Pink Floyd t-shirts, and they buy in."

I close my eyes and tip my head back. I don't want to see her reaction.

I hear the chair creak and when I look down, Bella is between my knees, staring up at me. The corners of her mouth hint at a smile.

"You know what would be awesome?" she says. "If the junkie started dating the head case. Can you imagine what they'd say?" Her eyes dance as she watches my mouth slide into a smile.

"Dating, huh?" I ask.

She rises on her knees and pushes her mouth up against mine. Like a perfect dance, our mouths open, our tongues combine, and then she's in my lap, pushing me down onto the bed, and she's soft and warm and light against me. I slide my hand up and down her back, stroking, before I twist my fingers up in her hair.

I say "I'm sorry I've been such a dick, Bella. I'm not good at letting people get close."

"Funny," she says. "I'm not good at trying."

I try to smile because in two weeks she's gotten past every barrier I've ever erected, but her tongue is on mine and her hips are grinding against me and it's truly taking all of my willpower not to wrap my hands around her breasts, or her hips, and grind her harder against my cock.

I don't do any of that though. I kiss her for three hours solid until her mouth and chin are blotchy and red, but I don't try to steal second. I'm pretty sure we're both sore from the dry humping, but I don't think either of us cares, since neither one of us can stop grinning. Finally she pulls away and says that she needs to get home to get dinner started. I look at the clock and realize that I need to eat, and soon, or I'm going to have problems and the last fucking thing I want is to crash in front of Bella.

I offer to walk her home but she declines, saying that she has to stop by the store on the way home, plus pick up her truck at the library. It's still daylight so I say okay because really, I need to eat. She kisses me goodbye, leaves me her phone number and I promise to call that night, which I do, and we talk for three hours before making arrangements to meet the next day at her house. If I'm dating a cop's kid, I guess I'd better make sure he hears the truth from me before he hears too many rumors.

_September_

I grab Bella's hand in mine. "You ready?" I ask.

We sit in the parking lot of Forks High, waiting for the bell to ring, getting ready to face the teeming masses. She's wearing a skirt and I happen to know that her panties today are pink – my favorites. In the last six months, I've become acquainted with Bella's underwear. I guess you could say that we've become intimate. The panties and I.

Bella smiles, full of fake courage and vanilla latte. "Fuck yeah," she says, and I know she's telling me that she's nervous.

As predicted, the rumor mill went wild when they discovered we were dating. I was glad I'd taken the time to explain things to Chief Swan, since he'd received a number of phone calls from "concerned" parents about the kind of company his daughter was keeping. As it stood, the Chief became one of my biggest defenders, much to the bafflement of the Brandons, the Yorkies and the Stanleys. Whatever. As long as things were good between me and Bella, I didn't honestly give a fuck.

My mom wasn't Bella's biggest fan at first. It probably had something to do with the crash I had about a month into dating her. No one was paying attention to how much I ate, or how often, and I'd gotten sloppy about monitoring my levels. Bella was fucking cool though. She did exactly what we'd talked about, in case of an emergency, and even the doc said she couldn't have done anything better.

Still, after that, she started wearing this clunky dork watch with all these numbers and shit on it. It beeped every few hours to remind me to check my sugars, or to eat, or to shoot up. She never let me forget after that, and I haven't had a crash since. Eventually, my mom came around.

And I did everything in my power to take care of Bella. When she got nervous, I was there to hold her hand, to remind her how amazing she is. When she needed help with history, I pulled out my books and related them to those damned "classics" she was always reading. When her truck broke down, I got her to and from school and helped out her friend Jacob with finding the parts to fix it.

Of course, I took care of Bella in other ways as well. I kissed her. A lot. And kissing led to touching and touching led to other things and sometimes it felt like getting to where we were going was some sort of mythical journey that involved maps for dark lands, and golden rings that ruled the world.

I'd managed to lose my virginity to a girl I wasn't even going out with in my sophomore year. We were at a party, both of us drunk, and we ended up kissing, then going upstairs, where one thing led to another. I was fifteen and she was seventeen. When it was over, she said "now you'll remember me forever." I thought that was kind of creepy and fucked up, but I was relieved to be done with it, just the same.

I didn't want that for Bella and me. I wanted her to be sure, and so we went slow. She was happy to let my put my hands up her shirt, but it took almost a month before she'd let me take her shirt off. The bra stayed on for another two weeks. And my dick was practically tattooed with the imprint of my zipper because we stayed fully clothed from the waist down for nine whole weeks.

Very rarely, she would let me put my hand up her skirt and feel her over her panties. She'd shiver and arch and sometimes I thought she was close, but I couldn't make it happen with the cotton and lace in the way.

"Baby, I promise it won't hurt if I touch you." I hated the pleading in my voice, but I had the worst case of blue balls in three states. Neither of us was getting off with dry humping.

"I know that," she'd say, her hot breath panting against my neck, my mouth, my chest. "I'm just…."

Just. Just nervous. Just scared. Just not ready.

So I'd swallow down my sigh and kiss her more, and we'd spend hours that way, both of us on the edge, neither of us falling over. I hoped that when school was out and we had oceans of unsupervised time together that things would progress. While my dick and my hand were really good friends, I was kind of hoping that they'd start seeing other people. I was surprised then, when a week before the last day of school Bella started turning the clock all the way back.

I lifted the hem of her t-shirt and she brushed my hands away.

I slid one hand up under it and she pulled it out, placing it chastely on the bed beside her.

Now, I could handle the very slow going so far. Bella was far less experienced than I was, and since I had no plans of giving her up, I knew that I could take my time. But this…didn't make any sense.

"What's going on, baby?" I asked.

She lowered her eyes and looked away.

I sighed. She frowned.

I laid down on the bed, and pulled her against me, my face in her hair. "I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong, Bella."

"There's nothing to fucking fix. I'm not a car."

Great. Swearing. Now I knew something was very wrong. She still only swore when she was nervous.

I turned to my side and spooned her into me, my arm against her chest, her head under my chin. We were still for so long that I almost fell asleep before she whispered, so low I almost didn't hear it: "I'm sorry."

"Just talk to me."

"It's fucking embarrassing. You…you won't believe me."

I flipped her over and made her look at me. Her big brown eyes were dark and full of fear. Definitely not how I wanted my sweet girl looking at me.

I kissed the corner of her mouth, brushed her cheek with my eyelashes. "I love you, Bella. You can tell me anything." Our confessions of love had come weeks ago, but we saved the words, spending them only when the feeling was so piercing that they couldn't be contained.

"I'm…" She sighed. I waited.

"I'm sort of not a virgin," she said.

Not a virgin? Not. A virgin. What the fuck?

Now, at this point it had been nine long weeks of kissing and groping and whacking off multiple times a day, trying to be patient, because I thought that this girl was a virgin. And I still would have been patient if she wasn't. But she knew that I thought she was, so, it kind of felt like a lie. Like she'd been lying to me.

All the old feelings started to rise up in me, feelings of betrayal, not knowing who to trust. I thought I could trust her. I thought we were…kindred.

I pushed away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, my back to her.

"You're mad," she said.

I didn't want to say anything, I just wanted her to go away. How the fuck did I let this happen? Why did I let myself trust her?

"You lied to me." It was the only thing I could think.

"No!"

I felt her shift on the bed and come up behind me. I flinched from the touch that I knew was coming. I felt her shift away again.

She sighed and muttered something that sounded like 'fucking bicycle.' Wait, what?

"What?" I asked, turning to look at her.

She was sitting on her heels, head down, studying her hands.

"When I was little I had an accident on my bike and I'm not- I'm not technically a virgin." She didn't meet my gaze.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. Was that shit even possible? And wait – so she's saying she still hasn't been with anyone else? I knew that I loved her regardless, but I have to admit – the caveman in me loved that I would be her first.

I picked up her hands with mine. "Lucky bicycle," I whispered, a half smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Oh, ew! Jasper, that's disgusting. I was six!"

I tickled under her arms and we fell back against the bed. "Still," I grinned. "That bicycle's seen more action than I have. Lucky bike."

She giggled, then laughed, tucking her head into my neck.

"You're not mad?" she asked.

"Mad that I don't have to make you bleed your first time? Not in the least, baby."

After that, as much as I loved the panties, I must confess that I was glad to see them spending less time on her body.

* * *

Bella laid naked on my bed, her pale body a streak of light against the caramel colored bed spread.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

Her eyes wide, she nodded. "I want to."

I lowered myself onto her, resting my hips between her thighs. I stroked her cheek, rained kisses across her face, smoothed her hair away from her face. She's so beautiful; I wanted to remember her, just like this, forever.

It had been four long weeks since the panties and I decided to spend less time together. It had been three weeks since our mouths decided to join our fingers in the charting of new worlds. And in all that time, I hadn't managed to make Bella come. Sure, there'd been a few close calls – times when I'd felt her body tense and shift, when she'd sucked in her breath, holding it, waiting…only to let it out in a frustrated sigh and move my hand or my mouth away from her.

"Just stop," she'd say.

"Uht-uh," I'd grunt and try again. It was frustrating. I really wanted to make her come. And I knew she was frustrated too.

In the time since the bicycle talk, Bella'd become adept at getting me off. She'd use her fingers, her mouth, and lately, she'd slide herself over me, wet and hot and slick, grinding her clit against the head of my cock, and within minutes it would be too much, my stomach and her silky hair receiving the viscous fluid that shot out of me.

When we were done, she'd look at me, her eyes glowing, face flushed. She looked happy, but…envious. I wanted to give her what she needed. I needed to do it.

Yet as I continued to try and fail, she continued to push our limits, until one day I was poised at her entrance, a fraction of an inch from sliding in. We stared at each other, eyes wide, breathing shaky breaths. I wanted it. I wanted her. I wanted to slide into her, feel that wet heat envelop me, the softness gripping me until I spilled out into her. Spilled? Exploded was more like it. I jerked back at the same time she did, creating much needed space between us.

Three days later, she'd talked me into having sex. Taking her technical non-virginity. It was a ridiculously easy battle on her part.

On the one hand, I felt like a selfish ass. I knew she wouldn't get off, that it would ultimately hurt. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't last very long, so it wouldn't be that bad for her. In truth, if I was getting her off at all, I would have been pushing for sex a lot sooner. As it was, I felt like a jerk, but…it didn't stop me from getting her naked and getting myself between her legs.

She smiled up at me, encouraging. Could she be any more beautiful?

She shifted against me and said, "I'm ready."

With a nod, I pushed into her. Her eyes widened and her mouth froze into a tiny smile. I paused, my cock literally throbbing inside of her, until I saw her face relax a little. I pushed in further and willed myself to stop again. She nodded and then I was all the way inside of her. How could something be so soft and so tight at the same time? It was so much fucking better than her mouth – so much hotter and so wet and just…better. I praised the men who invented the pill because a condom here would be criminal.

She encouraged me with her hands, stroking my back, weaving them through my hair and way, way too soon, I was falling down on top of her, panting her name while my whole body crumbled under the force of what was the best orgasm of my entire seventeen-year-old life.

When she pulled on a t-shirt to walk to the bathroom to clean up, I made myself a promise: no more nookie until I made Bella come. I couldn't stand the idea that she would be so giving and get nothing in return. I needed her to know how much I loved her. I needed her to feel it. It was truly the least I could do, and it ended up happening just a few days later, in a way that surprised us both.

It was a routine July afternoon. We were naked on my bed, my ridiculously hard cock pressed against her thigh, my fingers inside of her, my mouth on her breast, licking and sucking and stroking with my tongue. She kept trying to pull me over, pull me onto her, and I kept holding back. The no nookie promise was still in effect, and she couldn't figure out why I wouldn't have sex with her again. I didn't want to tell her in case she read something silly into it, so I just said I didn't need to. A technical truth.

I continued to stroke her with my fingers, slipping them in and out of her, circling her clit with my thumb. She moaned and panted, her fingers tight in my hair. We were getting close more and more often, and today it seemed like she was right on the edge.

I lifted my head to her neck, kissing and licking, then raised it to nibble on her earlobe. She let out a low moan, then held her breath, body tensing. I picked up the pace, with my hand, keeping the pressure steady.

"Come on, baby, let it go." I whispered low in her ear, never missing a beat with my hand.

She exhaled again, her voice more high pitched, her breath coming faster. Her back arched a little, and I could feel her starting to clench around my fingers. We'd been here before though – this was right where she'd lose it, every time.

"Come on, baby. Let go for me."

_Gasp_

"God you're so beautiful, Bella. Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?"

_Moan_

Her body began to tremble, the tension filling her limbs. She seemed…she seemed to _like_ me talking to her.

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

"You're like a fucking goddess, so fucking pretty and you feel so fucking good in my hand."

Her body was still shaking, dangling on the edge. Fuck, I wanted her to come.

"The only thing I like better than touching you is tasting you, feeling your skin, your sweet little pussy on my mouth, do you know how good that feels, baby?"

"Don't stop, please, don't stop." Her voice was a breathy, pleading whisper.

"I won't stop, baby. I'm not stopping until you come for me, until I feel you coming on my fingers, baby. I want you to come for me."

Oh, and then she did.

Fingers tight in my hair, she pulled my face against her neck as her thighs clamped down on my hand, holding it tight, bucking against me, her breathy gasps coming faster and faster until-

"Oh, fuck, Jas!"

And it was fucking delicious, feeling her whole body clench around me, feeling her walls squeeze down on my fingers, her clit throbbing against my thumb and her panting, panting in my ear.

I covered her face in kisses, my mouth spilling words of love. I looked into her eyes and she giggled.

"That was-" I began.

"Amazing," she answered. And then she was pulling me on to her, digging her heels into my ass, trying to get me inside of her.

"Please," she asked, and she didn't have to ask twice.

I slipped inside of her, a single thrust with no resistance. She was so soft and slippery wet from her orgasm, and she didn't freeze up, not once. I thrust again, so fucking tight, my god, she was so fucking tight and then she shocked me. She thrust back. In seconds we'd found a clumsy rhythm and it seemed like only seconds later I was the one coming, burying myself inside of her, digging my face into her hair, calling out baby, baby, baby, baby.

When we were done we giggled at each other and when I looked down at Bella she was flush and pink and her eyes were saying nothing but happiness to me and that's all I needed.

After that, we spent the summer unsupervised, exploring the way that two teen-aged people in love should: with much enthusiasm, some trepidation, and very few clothes. I also discovered that the only time she that she ever swore (oh, fuck, yes) for a reason other than nerves was because of me doing something right.

It was beautiful, and she is beautiful, in her false bravado, in her passion, and in the tender way she has of caring for everyone around her. And I'm the lucky bastard who gets to see it all.

I take her hand in mine and help her out of the cab of my truck. She grins up at me as we share one last secret moment before we face the wolves, the sheeple, of Fork's High, who see only what they want: A junkie and a head case, wrapped around each other like life vests in a monsoon. They'll never know.

.

**AN:**

**Despite **the references in this story, smoking is bad for you. Even if you don't inhale. So don't do it.

**All **of my love and thanks to krismom, who is both alpha and beta, who holds my hand and who convinced me to deliver something less PG-13 and a little more R, and that I could do so without sounding like an instruction manual (insert tab B into slot A).

**Massive **thanks go to Eric's girls, especially Linds, Vio, Zigs, Green, Meads and FDM for the, uh, inspiration.

**Extra** thanks go to Vio, who reassured me on the scant medical info which is herein contained. If there are errors, they belong to me.

**I** have several more Jasper-centric one-shots written and in the editing process. If you'd like to see them, consider adding me to your author alerts.

**Musical References:** M&M's by Blink 182; Turning Japanese by The Vapors; Misguided Angel by the Cowboy Junkies.

**Please **review and tell me what you thought. If you loved it or hated it, tell me why? Criticism is welcome.


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